


Tonight I'm Loose and Fancy-free

by starvingsnout



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, Drunk Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, PWP, Rio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starvingsnout/pseuds/starvingsnout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've seen a bunch of fics with zarry getting it on in Rio but none with bottom!Zayn, so here I go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight I'm Loose and Fancy-free

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to finish & post this ages ago but got so frustrated with it. Who actually likes writing smut?? It's tough af :/

"You've been ignoring me."

 

Zayn's eyebrows arch up high on his forehead, his dark eyes round and innocent. He's shaved the stubble for a change and looks so soft and young he's giving Harry X Factor flashbacks. "Ignoring you?" He's reclining against the handrail lining three sides of the lift, resting his weight on his outstretched arms as he regards Harry. "What d'you mean?"

 

A flicker of doubt sparks up in Harry's gut but the feeling has been eating him up like a maggot in his brain, each new instance of a humouring smile or short answer a new tack in his shoe. One or two such occasions are no big deal but it feels like Zayn's hasn't as much as looked his way during the past two weeks. "You've barely said a word to me since tour started," he mumbles stubbornly - slurs, more like - and stumbles a little as the hand gesture he's making falls a little wide. Damn those evil little mimosas and their sneaky high alcohol content.

 

Zayn blinks slowly, unimpressed. "Um, I have? Like, this morning. We talked about... lots of things, actually. Tour, the city, the food...?"

 

Harry frowns because that did happen now that he thinks of it but... he still feels neglected. He tries to change weight from one foot to the other and staggers forward when he miscalculates where the floor of the lift is. He lets himself fall all the way into Zayn's personal bubble and brackets him against the wall with his arms. "That doesn't count."

 

"I don't know what more you want from me," Zayn says blankly, unfazed by Harry's nose bumping into his.

 

The lift comes to a smooth halt, like one could only expect in a five star hotel, and when the doors slide noiselessly open Harry secures Zayn into his side and walks them out.

 

"This isn't my floor," Zayn mumbles but lets Harry tug him along.

 

"I know, sorry I want to chat a bit." The hallway is quiet and empty, but Harry hurries them down the length of it as fast he can in his wobbly state. There's no danger of running into curious strangers since both the top floors are reserved for their entourage but Paul is always a problem, as much as he was four years ago. Anyone else from their team would laugh or shake their head and turn a blind eye, but Paul has that magical way of making Harry and the rest actually feel a little guilty about whatever they're currently up to, like their own personal Jiminy Cricket.

 

"Right now? It's like three in the morning."

 

" _Right now, wish you were here with me_ ," Harry hums under his breath and lets go of Zayn to dig out his key card. Zayn slumps against the wall next to Harry's door and smirks when it takes Harry five attempts to slot in the card the right way. His chuckling turns into a grunt when Harry pushes him into the room a little too roughly and when Harry follows him and takes care to lock the door behind him he starts looking a little wary. 

 

The room is spacey, decorated with dark wood and cream-coloured textiles, the ceiling high and windows tall, currently covered by curtains of some light fabric. The bed is queen-sized and neatly made with a thick, expensive-looking duvet and a neatly tucked cashmere throw. Zayn glances at it and then walks straight to it when Harry approaches him, backwards so as to keep an eye on Harry. "Sit," Harry tells him with a friendly smile. Even with his hand on the Bible he would swear that in the lift he genuinely only wanted to talk but somewhere between the lift and his room he's come a full 180 and has no zero interest in talking. They're alone, a little drunk, the lights are low... This is how it often used to starte. His heart is pounding.

 

Zayn sits, slowly. Harry takes his shoulders and pushes him on his back, forcefully.

 

"This sort of chat then," Zayn murmurs, staring at the ceiling like he's hypnotized. He breaks out of it when Harry climbs on top of him, eager and clumsy, and evades his searching lips. "Harry," he half-groans, half-sighs. "Harry... I thought we agreed to quit doing this."

 

"I don't remember agreeing to any such thing," Harry whispers hotly and slides his hands in Zayn's hair to twist his head into a good position.

 

It's a terrible kiss, teeth and tongue and orange-flavoured spit, and only serves to make Harry more frustrated, desperate for Zayn's attention. "Kiss me," he growls feverishly, tightening his hold on Zayn's hair.

 

Zayn mumbles something unintelligible, eyes narrow slits of gold under the soft brushes of his lashes. He's rock hard but unresponsive under Harry, not making a move either to disengage or reciprocate. Harry whines with impatience and tugs Zayn's head back, locks it in place. He knows Zayn likes his hair being pulled even if he'd never admit it and he abuses that titbit of knowledge now, curls silky tufts around his fingers on both sides, close to the hairline, and draws them in away from the scalp, taking turns on each side, careful but firm. He's so glad Zayn has moved on from shaving his sides.

 

Zayn has his eyes wide open now and his mouth has fallen slack, his chest heaving like he's running out of oxygen. Harry nips at his lower lip gently, testing waters, and is happy to have a response this time. Zayn puts out his tongue to lick at Harry's lips and laughs when Harry presses his own tongue against it. They kiss with open mouths and slick, insistent tongues, eyes falling shut. Zayn's hands finally abandon their death grip Harry's shoulders and feel down his back until they meet hot skin above his trousers and slip under Harry's shirt, palms flat and sweaty against the muscles of his back.

 

Harry buries his nose in Zayn's neck, braces the muscles of his stomach until his lower body finally obeys him, and ruts against Zayn between his slightly parted legs. He wishes they were naked and sober, drunk only with each other and the heat of the moment. It's been a long while since they'd known each other's bodies like this, almost half a year. They fucked once in Australia, at a random pitch stop between rides or maybe it was an airport, and then retained friendly but distant terms for the rest of the leg.

 

"You're such a jungle boy these days," Zayn mutters unevenly, swallowing between every word. "Your hair I mean." He's pulled out the scarf around Harry's head and works his fingers through the long locks in a half-hearted effort to untangle the knots in them.

 

"D'you like it?" Harry pulls his head up, shoulders straining as he gazes down at Zayn.

 

"It's you, I s'pose." Zayn squirms a little under him. "You feel heavier, too."

 

"It's all muscle," Harry huffs and it probably is, par a pound or two or five. He's always fittest when they're touring - there's something to be said for deserted hotel gyms in the small hours - but there's not been enough time to bounce back yet. "Stick insects don't get to have an opinion, anyway." He mushes his lips back against Zayn's to drown out whatever protest is forming on them. It's almost a fetish for him, he's come to think, this urge to smother Zayn until all his senses are filled with Harry and Harry alone.

 

Zayn starts making sounds like he's choking and coming at the same time and bucks his hips up against his Harry's but a second later he pushes Harry's face away and his cock is still hard. He takes a few shuddering breaths and then looks up almost accusingly, like it's Harry's fault he hasn't come yet.

 

Harry pushes himself up on his hands and knees, a little dizzy, and crawls down the bed, backwards. I'll make you come, you just wait, he thinks determinedly as he fumbles open Zayn's jeans and pushes his face in the soft flesh above the waistband. His mouth feels spongy and loose and he makes a slobbering mess out of it, a trail of drool slick and gloopy on Zayn's skin. Still, he persists, drags his sluggish upper body further down with his thigh muscles, braced against the bed in an awkward angle.

 

Zayn abruptly lifts up a knee and Harry peers up at his face. He thinks maybe Zayn will wrap a leg around his head and press it into his crotch but the foot settles on his shoulder instead. For a heartbeat or two Harry entertains the curious but intriguing possibility that maybe Zayn wants his toes sucked but then the foot turns from tentative to vicious. Harry winces in pain as he's forced off Zayn, all the way up on his shins, and then he topples over the foot of the bed, not realising how close to the edge he was. He lands on his arse, cushioned by the lush wall-to-wall carpet of the room but moans pathetically anyway.

 

A moment later Zayn peers down at him, swaying a little from side to side like he's on a boat. "Sorry. ...You 'k?"

 

"Why'd you push me?" Harry demands, bewildered.

 

Zayn only stares at him and gets off the bed to straighten his clothes. Harry realises he's leaving and throws himself forward to catch Zayn by the ankles when he attempts to walk to the door. "Please don't go."

 

"We'll regret this in the morning," Zayn sighs reluctantly. 

 

You mean _you_ 'll regret this, Harry thinks, a little annoyed. "We can act like it never happened," he says lightly, rubbing the thin skin under Zayn's ankle bones with his thumbs.  "Come on, I'll make it good. Like you haven't had in ages." Big words for someone as slushed as Harry but Zayn bites his lip like he's tempted and then abruptly sinks down on his knees to wrap himself around Harry.

 

"Alright, yeah, but quick, yeah?" he says and closes his eyes. "Real quick. I don't want to think."

 

Harry nods fervently and nudges Zayn back until he falls on the carpet. He looks like sin "Right, uh, I need- I'll just get the lube and-"

 

"Go in dry," Zayn says immediately. He's squirming out of his jeans like his life depends on it.

 

"What? No, I'll-" Harry twists around until he catches sight of the strap of his brown leather bag hanging down the side of the computer chair. He gets up on his knees to reach for it and upends the contents on the fuzzy carpet to rummage through them.

 

"Fuckin' hurry up," Zayn demands and kicks the side of Harry's shin. He'd turned on his side, jeans halfway down his legs. Harry's a little shocked to see he's not wearing pants underneath.

 

"Freeballing, huh?" He finally locates the bottle he's looking for, happily notes it's almost half full, and crawls back to Zayn to push him flat against the carpet, this time on his front.

 

"Ran out of underwear," Zayn admits. He's limper than a wet rag on the carpet but makes pleased noises when Harry works two slick fingers in him, with liberal amounts of lube. "Yeah, that's enough," he decides what can't be more than a minute into it and rolls around to pull off his jeans the rest of the way. Harry helps him and then huddles in close between his slim legs. Since Zayn isn't all that flexible and hates getting his limbs bent into unnatural angles Harry figures there's really only one way this is going to work. He hikes most of Zayn's lower body up on the fronts of his own, bent thighs and places the ankles on his shoulders.

 

Zayn immediately starts shaking his head, however. "Haz, not like this, my back hurts. Can you, like, pull me up? I think I'm just gonna sit on you."

 

Harry hesitates but reflexively grasps Zayn's reaching arms. He's confident he could do this sober, but at the moment his arms feel like bloated noodles. Still, it's not often Zayn asks such things off him so he better deliver. He leans back until he falls on his arse and uses the momentum to haul Zayn with him, maybe a little too forcefully because his cheek collides with Zayn's chin. The foot of the bed is right behind his back and he leans against with relief, jostling Zayn into a nicer position as he goes.

 

"That was cool," Zayn laughs breathlessly and peels off his vest, his last remaining piece of clothing. Harry realises with some regret that he's still fully clothed, but Zayn seems to read his mind and shakes his head dismissively. "'s fine, all I need is your dick. Let's do this." It sounds more like 'lezzoodis' but Harry is well-versed in drunk-speak Zayn.

 

They kiss carelessly, like they used to when they were younger and new at this, while Harry fumbles the fly of his trousers open and pulls out his cock. It's stiff as a rod and drenched with pre-cum. Harry can feel his pulse through it when he grabs it and nudges Zayn forward to fit it between his cheeks. It sinks in smoothly and Harry is reminded of the small collection of inconspicuous-looking toys Zayn keeps in his satchel bag.

 

"Feels good," Zayn purrs into his neck where he's tucked his head, a little like Harry was with Ben earlier, perhaps intentionally. He's not making any attempts to fuck himself on Harry's cock, instead moving his hips in sluggish, deliberate circles that are not likely to get either of them off any time soon. Now in turn impatient, Harry wraps his hand around Zayn's cock and tugs sharply. Zayn lifts his head, brow deeply furrowed, and they glare at each other intently as Zayn grinds down harder and harder, keeping eye contact even when it gets too good and they're gasping for air. 

 

Harry surrenders first, as he tends to, and throws his head back, clutching the smoot flesh of Zayn's tiny bum tight as he comes so abruptly he almost swallows his tongue. Zayn chuckles, the childish shit he is, and then he's already climbing off. Surprised, Harry opens his eyes but Zayn's still there, stood in front of him cock in hand. His eyes are dark and hooded but the curve of his lips is almost gentle as he comes all over Harry's face.

 

Harry plays with the splatters on his cheeks absently as he watches Zayn languidly pick up his jeans and pull them on despite the white streaks running down his thighs. "Will you stay?" he asks, pointlessly but unwilling to let go of the moment so quickly. He doesn't understand how Zayn can bounce back from an orgasm so effortlessly sometimes - his own knees feel weak and watery still.

 

Zayn spares him a glance over his shoulder. "See you in the morning. I'll try to... talk to you more, yeah?" Then he staggers to the door, fumbles it open, and disappears into the quiet hallway with one more look and smile in Harry's direction.

 

Harry sniffs and nods, belatedly digesting Zayn's words. "Yeah, yeah, you do that," he says to the empty room and reaches for the vest Zayn left behind. It's aquamarine blue and may actually be one of Zayn's elusive own ones since Harry doesn't recall seeing it on the others. He smothers his face in it like an idiot and decides he's wearing it tomorrow; fuck pretending this never happened.

 

Zayn's left the door of the room is wide open and when Harry finally lets go of the shirt he sees Paul standing in the hallway hands on his hips, levelling him with a look that is half concerned, half judging.

 

"Sorry," Harry mouths at him and crumbles on the carpet on his face. He never makes it back to bed.

 


End file.
